A Gentleman's Affair
by limitedvocab
Summary: Updated - Chp 13 up. Tryan but so far its mild but not exactly mild for other characters. Older version of HSM characters. In short, someone just want Ryan dead.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

"_I love you." Ryan Evans confessed under the gray pregnant sky. _

_Standing outside on the tarmac steps of East High, Troy Bolton's eyes widened with shock. Fear flashed briefly in his eyes followed by cold anger. "Is this a prank?"_

"_No." Ryan shook his limp head, tears welling in his eyes as he felt Troy's cold gaze on him. Strands of fine water droplets pelted their heads and skins, camouflaging the hot tears of the blond._

"_I'm sorry. I can not reciprocate your feelings towards me." Troy muttered softly and began to walk away from Ryan. "I love Gabriella."_

_Ryan remained still, rooted to the cold slippery steps of East High. Slowly he felt his calm collected self shattered as his body shook violently with each tear that dripped down from his face. "It's ok…"Ryan tried to calm himself. "That's the last time we will be seeing each other. Nothing lost. Nothing gained."_

* * *

A fine gentleman in a black tailored suit gazed steadily out of the window of his private jet, recalling bitter memories of his past.

Ryan chuckled softly as he helped himself to some wine. Cold blue eyes that showed little to no emotions studied the interior of his private jet. At the age of twenty four, Ryan Evans was at the peak of his game. He was believed to have great potentials to become one of the world's greatest entrepreneurs and he was proud of it.

He had discarded many of his old habits, believes and penchants. He thanked Troy Bolton for his current success but at the same time cursed him. He still loved that man in ways he could not express but he rather kill himself than to admit that fact again.

He recalled the announcement his father made two days after his confession to Bolton. Troy would be receiving finacial aid from his parents with one simple condition. Troy must work for the Evans. Hold a post in the Evans' company and help them to expand their investments and lead the market.

It was pretty obvious how fond his father was toward Troy. His father had always wanted a son like Troy. Though his father had never openly object Ryan's behaviour, he was aware of the elder man's disappointment in him. He knew what his father expected out of him since he was born.

Tipping the wine glass a little, he took another long sip.

He was finally going back home. His father had called him back to aid in the family's business. He had finally earned the respect and trust he was due. He had finally earned his rightful place in the Evans' household.

Leaning back, he pondered about his sister Sharpay. He had not seen her ever since he had left for Europe, declining the offer from the Juilliard. It was good to hear from her last night as she told Ryan all about her plans.

As he was trying to recall his conversation with his sister, a loud explosion was heard from the side of his cabin followed by a sudden dip of the plane to the right. Rising quickly to his feet, he jabbed the emergency button on the panel located on his armrest. Before he could register what his copilot was announcing, he felt himself thrown back to his seat as the plane went into a dangerous nose dive.

**Author:** Err...that's about it. The prologue I mean...Short. This is all I can manage in an hour. Laugh weakly...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

A group of men and women garbed in black stood still as they paid their final respect to the deceased. Eyes fixated on the name carved on the tomb stone, he let out a soft sigh.

"Daddy…" a little girl tugged his coat sleeve.

He turned and smiled at his baby girl, Abigail who was being carried protectively by his beautiful wife Gabriella. He gently pulled Abigail from her mother's arms and kissed her small forehead.

"Ti—tired daddy." Abigail leaned on her father's chest and yawned. "Sleepy…" she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes.

"We will get home soon." He promised her and kissed her head.

"Troy…" Gabriella hooked her arms around his free arm and gazed steadily into his eyes. Tiptoed, she leaned forward and kissed Troy lightly on his lips. "You don't look so good."

He smiled weakly and replied, "I'm fine. I'll be better after a light nap."

Titling her head slightly to the right, she sighed. "Darling, you can't lie to me…you're not fine. We should drop by at Driscoll's?"

"No. That won't be necessary." He shook his head. He did not want to see any doctor. Especially Dr Lawrence Driscoll.

"I know you are not entirely fond of him – " she began to speak only to be cut short by her husband.

"I am never fond of him" He corrected angrily, causing his little girl to whine softly in her sleep.

"I wonder why you hate him so much. He's a gentleman. He's a sound man."

"I know."

"Then? Is there something you want to tell me? Did the two of you argue?"

Not wanting to continue the conversation any further, he kept quiet. Sometimes he wished Gabriella would just keep her mouth firmly shut. Slightly angered by his silence she took Abigail from his arms, waking the tired child.

"Home…" Abigail murmured groggily as she reached her hand out to tug at her father's tie. He smiled at her sweet angelic face and pinched her nose lightly.

"You have been sleeping all day." The little girl giggled and shut her heavy eyes again, mumbling the word that daddy softly.

"She's a child. What do you expect?" Gabriella said. "Oh, I need to talk to Sharpay for awhile." She walked away.

Troy watched her approaching a teary Sharpay. He inhaled deeply and exhaled.

He studied his surroundings silently.

"What an unpleasant surprise." A voice said from behind.

Turning around, Troy's eyes widened. "Ryan."

Their first meeting after years and this was how Ryan Evans greeted him.

He could feel those cold eyes studying him from the back of the shades. "Did my father ask you to come?"

"No." Troy answered. "I know your uncle. He is a generous man."

"Not generous enough." Ryan scoffed as he stared at his uncle's mistress.

Shaking his head lightly, Troy decided to change the topic of their conversation. "It's a real miracle seeing you walking out of the plane crash in one whole piece."

"Why? So eager to see me dead?" Ryan asked darkly as he recalled the accident that had happened seventeen days ago.

"No!" Troy replied a little too loudly, causing the other mourners to glare at him. Lowering his voice he asked, "How's your eyes?"

"What is it to you?"

"That's because I'm worried." Troy answered, slightly agitated. "I heard Driscoll saying something about the head concussion and it's affecting your vision."

Ryan raised a brow. Driscoll eh, he thought as he kept his lips sealed.

Feeling uncomfortable with the awkward silence between them, Troy tried his chance again to converse in a friendly manner with Ryan.

"Your eyes…your eyes can't take the current brightness?" Troy asked.

"It can't take any sort of brightness. It's only fine at night." Ryan muttered a reply.

Troy kept quiet. He wanted to open his mouth to say something. Anything. He did not want to end this conversation with Ryan. There were so many things that he needed to say to Ryan.

Before his lips could part to utter a word, Ryan cut in.

"I don't need your sympathy."

* * *

Troy waited for his wife in his Lamborghini.

"Damn." He cursed as he remembered that cool face of Ryan Evans. Grabbing a bottle from the backseat, he dropped his pen from his coat pocket.

"What's wrong with me?"

He slumped back on his seat. How long did he want to fake it? How long did he plan on hiding it?

Glancing at his rear view mirror, he saw Ryan Evans entering his Rolls-Royce. He felt his heartbeat raced at the sight of the handsome blond.

He always had feelings for Ryan Evans. Even before he met Gabriella. But he wanted so badly to be normal, to be straight. He could not accept the fact that he was silently in love to Ryan Evans, a male.

He slapped his palm on his forehead.

"I have a good career. I have a loving wife and a beautiful daughter."

"I am happy, right?"

* * *

Once inside his car, Ryan removed his shades and rubbed his temple slowly. His eyes were killing him. His eyes were not getting better. His vision was getting slightly hazier than the day before.

He glanced out from the tinted glass and noted Gabriella was walking toward the silver Lamborghini parked two cars away from his. He screwed his face slightly. His love rival. She was carrying a little girl tightly in her arms.

He cocked a brow as he studied the little girl. "Peculiar…" he mumbled.

He dismissed the thought and signaled his chauffer to move. Dialing a number, Ryan hooked his earpiece firmly on his left ear.

A voice greeted him through his earpiece. "What is it Evans?"

"I need your help." Ryan Evans answered, eyes glazed. "That crash was no accident."

* * *

**Author:** ...got the plot but I have a bad feeling that its gonna be quite long...longer than what I had expected.


	3. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2:

_A young man with a fair complexion sat quietly in his study, eyes glazed. He could hear the soft tapping of rain drops against the glass as the wind whistled between the leaves. On his table were piles of books and journals that he had planned to study on. He sipped his tea slowly, preoccupied. _

_Since early morning, he felt a nagging feeling in his chest. He was not certain the source of this disturbing feeling and he could not erased it from him. He brushed his platinum blond hair away. Something was wrong. _

_He picked up his fountain pen and added his thoughts on sheets of papers. Often documenting his thoughts into written words, he had little time to share those outside of his work and study. He was passionate of his work and writings. Merging and moulding statistical facts and life experiences together, he strived for perfection._

_He felt a fair amount of bitterness and bliss in life before he retrieved into his personal bubble, distancing himself from the society. He was a man with a clear calm face that glowed with a smile but a total wreck underneath his façade. He despised the foundation that supported the society. The unspoken rules that all must abide at all cost. _

_A soft ring from the bottom of the stairs caused the man to snap from his fictional word to reality. He raised his brows; emerald green eyes glowed with curiosity. He rarely had visitors. He had spent most of his life alone and had never felt the need of a companion._

_He made his way down the flight of stairs, pondering who he would find on his porch on this rainy afternoon. Again the doorbell rang. He cocked his brows and unlocked the front door._

_Swinging it open, his eyes widened with surprise._

_On his porch was a weeping Ryan Evans, soaked thoroughly from head to toe. Crystal blue eyes reflected sadness and pain that he could not comprehend. _

_Seeing the worried expression on the man's face, Ryan Evans parted his lips to speak but not a word escaped those blue lips. Unable to find his voice. Unable to speak of what had just happened._

_Slowly, he pulled Ryan into a warm embrace and comforted him. Holding tightly to the frail shivering body in his arms._

"_I'm here." Lawrence Driscoll comforted._

* * *

"They are not going to recover, aren't they?" Ryan asked their family doctor, hands covering his aching eyes.

Dr Driscoll raised his head, studying the blond sitting before him. "There's a fair chance of recovery."

Ryan Evans registered those words in his head, glancing sideways at the doctor. "A very slim one I presumed." Ryan spoke his mind as he adjusted his sitting posture, eyes shut from the intensity of the light in the doctor's office.

Driscoll frowned at that statement. He was a pessimist but not as bad as Ryan Evans was. He dipped his head slightly and answered after a deep thought. "The chance is slim but that does not mean it is impossible. I admit the likeliest possibility to occur would be degradation of vision but not necessarily always for patients with similar conditions as yours Ryan."

Ryan smiled lightly at those words. "Ambiguous like always. You are not providing me with a proper answer. I'm your patient and I do have a right to know my actual condition." Ryan replied, eyes squinting.

Lawrence chuckled, handing Ryan his shades. "Wear back your shades. I'm done examining your eyes."

Putting on his shades, Ryan sighed in relief. "Finally. Now answer me, what's my actual condition?"

Dr Lawrence Driscoll folded his arms and studied the dashing lad. "There's no actual condition. A patient's condition varies from time to time. Your eyes might be on the process of healing or otherwise. And frankly, there are other matters that you should put under serious consideration. Do you believe the head concussion only cause you blurry vision? Damages your pupils that only permit you to see under a limited intensity of light? Such head concussion normally leads to serious migraine, memory lost and impaired coordination."

"But I had none of those." Ryan replied, worried.

Driscoll sighed and leaned far back into his seat. "Those are the possibilities. So far the report came back was nothing worrying. But like I told you, as a doctor, I cannot fully tell you your condition. Doctors don't know everything about their patients."

Smiling gratefully, Ryan thanked Driscoll. "That's a long way of saying 'I'm worried'"

Blushing slightly, Lawrence coughed at the remark. Only Ryan Evans could see through all his actions. "Well I'm a doctor after all. Of course I'm worried about my patients."

"I don't see you so worried when you were diagnosing my parents and Sharpay."

Driscoll stared at Ryan and smiled. "Well those aren't serious conditions, are they?"

"Lawrence, isn't angina as serious as a head concussion?" Ryan queried the doctor as he recalled his father mild heart problem he had years ago.

"True." Lawrence admitted, feeling extremely foolish.

* * *

Troy rested himself on the sofa, the glass doors opened for better ventilation. Gabriella would be away for a week or more to visit her mother who had lately moved to Dallas. She brought along their little baby girl, Abigail, leaving Troy all alone.

Running his fingers through his dark hair, he took a sip of whiskey from his glass. He was expecting some serious projects from the senior Mr Evans. However things turned out otherwise. Things relating to his department seem to come to a standstill.

He was not certain what was in the head of the managing director. The elder man seemed to have something plotted out in his head and Troy Bolton was not informed about it. His boss might be planning on restructuring the company. The company was doing fine. Better than fine actually. But there was something lacking in their company. Something that made them second best to the Markov Company, a new company that bloomed to full glory in less than four years time.

Picking up his old year book on the glass table, he flipped through those coloured pages. He saw pictures of him in his Wild Cat uniform with his good chums. He was still in close contact with some of them like Chad and Zeke.

Lifting the book a bit higher, something slipped from the pages and landed lightly on his lap. Looking down, he recognized the photo on his lap. It was a photo of him and Ryan, both grinning like merry idiots.

He picked the photo up, recalling all those fun days he had had together with him.

Days that were so full of songs, dances and colours.

Days that he could leave the entire world behind.

Days that Ryan Evans was so close to him that he could smell the sweet musky scent from the fair boy.

Days where their lips came dangerously close.

"Jesus"

* * *

A man with dirty blond hair stood poise and still, steel gray eyes fixed on the skyline. Tapping the ashes off from the cigarette placed between his fingers, he exhaled slowly.

Should he call?

He contemplated the question, inhaling deeply, drawing in the rich scent of tobacco and vanilla from the cigarette. He had not collected enough information to deduce anything, but he could certainly see a pattern.

Flicking his cigarette to the tarmac floor, he pressed the heels of his shoes to crush its lighted tip.

Pulling out his cell he dialed and waited for a reply through his earpiece.

"Hello Evans."

"Well hello Thornton. Found something?" Ryan asked casually.

"I need more time. I can't jump to conclusion yet."

"I'm not in a rush for an answer. Take your time. But do you have anything that you want to say to me, other than that?"

"Try to stay alive."

* * *

**Author:** This is a dry chapter, I'm sorry about it. I need to slow down a bit on the crash part and speed up the part between Ryan and Troy, so the following chapters will be more focused on the two of them.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Resting weakly on bed, Ryan's ice blue eyes fluttered open, his ears prickling to the lightest sound from the outside world. Slowly, he pushed himself up, extending his right arm to reach the dresser at the side of his bed and whipped out a M1911A1 pistol.

Again he heard the soft taps outside the French windows.

He leaped off the bed lightly, clammy hands gripping on tightly to the pistol. He moved slowly, trying to stay hidden in the shadows casted by the furniture. He inhaled deeply as he positioned himself properly, ready to launch himself into a combat mode if necessary.

He lifted his hand, hovered his palm and fingers above the white curtain and quickly he yanked the curtain to the side, revealing the void night. He moved forward and registered everything in sight.

The soft taps were made by a tree branch that had extended its length over his veranda. He let out a sigh of relief and at a same time a bitter curse.

"Fuck."

His knees buckled under the tension and pressure he had built within him. He panted lightly, pressing his sweat-slick back against the cold glass while he removed the magazine from the pistol, tossing it on the floor.

Sensing a slight throb at the back of his eyes, he raised his hand to rub the pain away only to discover tears dripping down his cheeks. He pulled his legs in.

He dipped his head as more tears continued to flow down his face.

Life was never fair to him.

He never had any confidence in himself even up to know. What he had was borrowed strength from knowledge that could be easily attained with money and determination.

He was no more but a mistake in life.

He should not have existed.

He should have died in the crash.

He should have killed himself years back.

Yet he could not bring himself to point the gun on his head. He was afraid of dying. Afraid of death.

* * *

_A young boy ran merrily down the corridors and hid himself in his father's study. Not wanting to be caught by his twin sister, Ryan Evans hid himself inside the wooden cabinet. _

_The door to the study swung open. Ryan peeked out from the gap and noticed his parents had entered the room, voiced raised and temperamental. _

"_How am I to know?" his mother snapped._

"_How can you not?" his father yelled, exasperation clearly written on his face._

_Ryan screwed his face, tiny fingers holding on tightly to his legs. What had happened? The little child pondered._

"_So you're humiliated? You think I am not embarrassed over this matter?"_

"_I have a reputation to look after! Where will I put my face? All you care is your spa treatments and dance classes. You should have tutored him!"_

"_Me? You as a father should have spent more time with your son. Maybe that will drill some manliness into him!"_

"_Dolls! Tea parties! Dresses! Cosmetics! Are those what little boys play with? Do you think kissing your own gender is normal!?"_

_Little Ryan's eyes widened, fear and worry flashing clearly in his beautiful eyes as he withdrew himself further inside the cabinet. _

"_They were playing!"_

"_That wasn't the first and it will definitely not be the last!"_

"_What do you want me to do? Lock him away? He was born weak! He could not play under the sun like all the other boys!"_

"_Do you know how disgusted I am when I see him? I can't bring myself to look straight into my son's eyes! And I have to live with that fact till I die!"_

"_You're not the only one having such problems! But at least let him have his own freedom!"_

"_I don't want a faggot for a son!"_

"_Neither do I! But do we have a choice?"_

"_He's no more but a mistake!" Mr Evans screamed._

"_I should never have given birth to him!" Mrs Evans burst and stormed out of the room._

"_Damn right!"_

_The little boy huddled himself, tears trickling down his baby face as he digested the conversation in his head._

* * *

Ryan took a deep breath and wiped the tears away from his eyes.

No one actually came close to know the real him except Troy. That man had came so dangerously close to discover the little lost child within him. He could see through all Ryan's smiles and laughter, commenting on how fake they were.

The brunet entered his life and changed his outlook.

Troy was Ryan's guiding light. An angel who hold on tightly to Ryan's small hand when he was lost and carried him up when he fell.

But all that had come to a past. Troy would never be his. He belonged to his wife and daughter.

He slotted the magazine back onto the pistol, unloaded six bullets and gave the barrel a spin. Russian roulette. He lifted the pistol and pressed it firmly on his skull, feeling the cold metal biting into his skin.

_**Click.**_

* * *

Ryan Evans strolled down the corridors of the Evans mansion, eyes hidden behind his shades, facial expression blank and voice monotonous. He was a gentleman with an imperious bearing – confident and proud of himself.

A well educated man who handled things professionally and not emotionally. It was no doubt he was the perfect heir. The perfect son.

If people only knew…

…that fine gentleman tried to end his life last night.

* * *

Author: Chapter 3...all about Ryan.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

"Ryan, dad is concerned about your condition. He can't let you work like that. I'm sure you understand." Sharpay replied haughtily, making a sharp turn with her new red Ferrari. From the corner of her eyes, she observed him. She could tell that his ego was badly injured after their father told him off for coming to work, advising him to rest till his eyes are fully recovered. She could recall the sudden anger that erupted from Ryan after hearing those words from father.

She knew that he was mad at their father but at the same time, he was equally disappointed in that elderly man. "Ryan, did I ever tell you how dull you look like in those monotonous clothes of yours? They seemed so lacking in colours and vibrance."

Ryan glanced at Sharpay, brows furrowed. "No they don't."

"Yes they do." Sharpay answered back. "I'm not saying those clothes look bad on you. You look great in them, but the colours… You need more colours. Like pink. You look lovely in pink."

"You want me to turn up today in pink jeans, t-shirt and jacket? Including my socks, shoes and shades?" he queried her as he adjusted his shades.

"NO!" Sharpay snapped and shuddered. Sharpay cringed as she pictured Ryan in pink outfit and gears. "I mean something like a pink tie or shirt. I noticed you have a wonderful arctic gray suit in your wardrobe. It looks great with a pale pink tie. Red looks nice too, poppies.

"You want me to wear poppies? On my head like Julius' laurel?"

She shook her head. "I just want some colours. You're so difficult. Wanting to look all slick and cool. I mean, this is so not you Ryan."

"People change." That was his answer. A short simple answer. An answer that Sharpay felt that she should not query at all cost.

Damn straight, she thought. People change to adapt to their surroundings. Changes that might be either physical or spiritual. It could also be a combination of both. She accepted his answer. She did not want to be called a hypocrite. She had changed too over the years, but in subtle ways that was only noticeable to people close to her.

She kept quiet and focused all her attention on the road. Making a turn at the junction, she decelerated slowly as she looked for a parking place.

* * *

"How did you find it Ryan?" Zeke asked, smiling widely as he seated himself next to Sharpay.

Lifting his head and attention away from the simple summer dessert – small lemon tarts drizzled with fresh raspberry sauce mixed with an ample amount of vodka for a light kick.

"Brilliant."

Zeke's face lit up and glanced at with his beautiful wife, Sharpay, who nodded encouragingly to him. "Really?" He prompted.

"Absolutely my friend." Ryan nodded as he wiped his mouth with the champagne coloured napkin. "Your desserts are always brilliant. Your customers would completely agree with me."

"I won't deny that." Sharpay agreed, lifting her glass to her lips. Brushing strands of blond hair away from her beautiful face, she smiled and held Zeke's hand tightly. "Well, Zeke darling is worried how our parents will react to it. You know those old folks."

Ryan brows furrowed, curious. "Our parents?"

Zeke and Sharpay exchanged glances, excitement shining brightly on their eyes. He pulled Sharpay close to him, supporting her as she breathed in deeply.

"I'm pregnant!" she squealed delightfully.

"What? How long?" Ryan asked, totally caught off balance.

"Entering the third month." Sharpay replied.

"Wow. That's great. So I guess you're planning to tell them about it."

"Yes. In fact we're planning to tell everyone about it!" Zeke beamed brightly. Finally, he would be the father to the world's most adorable baby! His baby!

"So who exactly is 'everyone'?"

"Troy, Chad, Kelsi and the rest of them! Well including some of my chefs and family friends. Oh but Gabriella can't make it. She has to visit her mother." Zeke clarified.

"We're doing it here, in our restaurant! This coming Sunday! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Isn't that a bit short noticed?" Ryan questioned as he watched the two bubbly parents-to-be.

"Oh we have informed everyone since last week!"

"So I guess I'm the last on your list huh?"

"No! Don't be foolish Ryan. You know we love you! So how did you find the entire menu?"

"Great." Ryan replied, a bit tight-lipped.

"Wonderful! Oh, I have a little favour to ask from you. As my brother, will you sing at least sing one song for the night? Some entertainment to lighten the mood."

"Ok…"Ryan mumbled, which sounded more like '_why me?'_.

"Oh Troy is performing too." Zeke added, pulling a small folded paper. "Well there is Jason too…with his jokes…"

Ryan's eyes widened in horror. "Hey, at least it isn't his sock puppets." Sharpay humoured dryly.

"Well, I hate to say this, but I no longer sing. I don't love music anymore. Me and music…it's history."

"Really? Then why did you buy a piano? Decoration purposes?"

Ryan's eyes narrowed, "How…"

"Network." Sharpay answered wisely, eyes glowing with mischief. "Zeke darling can I have some of those lovely croquembouche?"

"Sure love." Zeke smiled, kissed her cheek and left the table, heading to the kitchen.

"So I guess this is what you call urgent. Menu and entertainment. I feel used. Meanly manipulated."

Sharpay laughed lightly, crossing her legs. "Well that's not all. I'm giving you my share."

"I beg your pardon?" Ryan frowned.

"You heard me. I'm giving you the 15% share I'm holding in the company. I don't want it. I have no need for it."

"Are you feeling well? Fever? Migraine?"

"I'm fine!" Sharpay snapped. "I know what is in your head. You're my twin. You can't hide anything from me without arousing my suspicion. You wanted it don't you? Have a little say over the company. Prove your worth to the company and to father."

"What's in it for you?" Ryan asked cautiously.

"Nothing." Sharpay smiled. "I already have this restaurant. All I want is a happy life with Zeke and I want you, Ryan, to be equally happy as well."

"I'm not sure what father has in mind. Everything is in static motion. All he did was golfing. Terrible I tell you. And there's Markov."

"Markov? They are doing very well I can say."

"Certainly. Too well if you ask me." Sharpay frowned, fingers tapping the table.

"Please enlighten me."

"I'm not sure how true this is, but it was rumoured that the managing director was a close friend of someone influential. A political figure. Well I did a background check on Markov. Results – squeaky clean. So bloody clean that it annoys the hell out of me."

"I sense this has something to do with bribery."

"That's my assumption."

"It proves a lot…so that is why you send me all those newspaper clippings. Yes, it makes perfect sense. Our company's loss of the three billion dollars contract to Markov was particularly odd."

Sharpay nodded. "We offered the best terms that I am absolutely certain it is unachievable by other companies. How Markov did it, I have no idea. What and how do they gain out of such terms? And that wasn't the first time. That's partly why I hand over my share to you. You are better at this than I am. This is your zone."

"But Shar…I still need your help. I just returned for about a month or more."

"You will know where to start. I am of little use when it comes to such matters."

"I'm not even allowed to step inside – "

"You can ask Troy to help you. Aren't you two inseparable in high school?" Sharpay cut Ryan short. "Never mind. Let's change topic. It's beginning to tire me."

"Ah, Troy asked me to give you this." Sharpay said as she produced a card from her handbag.

"A name card? How professional of him." Ryan commented darkly as he flipped the card to the back to see words scribbled by Troy in blue ink.

_**Call me when you're free. **_

* * *

Author: Edited. For mistakes made.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Detective Thornton rushed up the stairs, knocking an office boy off balance. "Sorry." He mumbled, not meaning the word he had uttered. Why should he? The boy was in his way.

His steel grey eyes scanned the HQ. Violent husbands, homicidal schoolboy, drunkards and the usual lot. Your usual garden terrorism. Nothing spectacular. His eyes noted a smartly dressed figures in the lobby, probably some ass' lawyer or the DA.

"You're late!" the nearly bald man wheezed.

"Like I give a fuck."

Thornton's eyes narrowed as he registered the presence of a man in tailored suit in the room. The gears in his head began to rotate while he listed the possibilities. He took the seat next to the gentleman, not acknowledging his presence in the room.

"Thornton, lately I heard some pretty unsavoury things about you."

_Oh blackmail. How exciting._ Thornton mused. "Proceed."

He ignored the old man's threats as he pulled out his final cig before he crushed the box. Thornton slipped his hand into his pocket but the man next to him whipped out his slick metal lighter, lighting the dangling cigarette from his mouth.

The man smiled, gazing steadily into Thornton's weary eyes. Thornton returned the lavender gaze coldly.

The man was good looking, sexy he admitted but he did not swing that way.

"You hear me Thornton?!" the old man snapped as he pulled his suspenders.

"Is that all? I was expecting…more." Thornton voiced his disappointment. "Ask your men to work harder if they want to dig some serious shit against me. You basically have nothing against me."

"Really?" the stranger spoke, his husky voice caused the hair on Thornton's neck to stand.

"Pardon my insolence Machiavelli, have you been stalking me?" Thornton queried the man.

The man smirked, "Mr Harlan, can you please leave the room? I would like a private conversation with Mr Thornton."

"What?! He's – "

"Please leave the room, Mr Harlan." The man repeated.

Seeing the anger flaring in the man's eyes, Mr Harlan left the room. Thornton raised his brows, some of his questions answered. A vague hypothesis formed in his head.

"I heard about your good relationship with the young Mr Evans."

"What does it got to do with you?"

"A lot." The man chuckled as he stood up, towering Thornton. Placing both his hands on the armrest of Thornton's chair, he leaned down, closing the distance between them as his lavender eyes searched the emotionless grey eyes.

"I am also informed about your recent meeting with him. If I am not wrong, it was concerning the plane crash…"

Thornton glared at the man. "Fuck off."

"Let's cooperate, detective. I just want some information like Mr Evans. Nothing more."

"For all I know you might be the man behind the crash." Thornton spat, anger swelling inside him.

"I don't operate that way." The gentleman smirked, leaning closer till the gap between them was only a centimeter.

"Then is this how you operate?"

"No. I don't go this low. I can give you anything you want." The man pressed his lips roughly on Thornton, prying open those lips with his tongue.

Shocked and horrified, Thornton tried to push the man off. His action was futile. The man was far stronger than what Thornton had expected.

Thornton was disgusted. He was mostly disgusted by his sudden lust for the stranger's mouth and body. He loved the sweet taste of wine and vanilla. He could devour those delicious lips wholly but his consciousness forbade him.

He bit those lips, till he could taste the sweet sickly taste of blood trickling down his mouth.

Pulling their lips apart, the man scowled. "That's not very nice. But I'll keep it for memory sake." The gentleman said, fingering his lower lip.

Pushing the man away, Thornton stood up and took a few steps back, putting some distance between them, panting hard.

"I see you enjoy it."

"Fuck you."

"Next time. Well, consider my offer. Anything you want." The man chuckled softly, fixing his tie while he walked to the door. "It could save your brother's life."

Thornton kept quiet, confusion and anger clouding his eyes. He averted his gaze from those alluring eyes.

"Do you need my name card?"

"No. I know exactly who you are, Mr Devereux. CEO of Markov Company."

* * *

Troy Bolton was laughing merrily with his good mates. The day was beautiful. He adjusted his visor.

"I seriously don't get them!" Chad complained, removing his rubber gloves.

"Women. They get complicated and uglier with every passing second." Jason commented.

"No." Zeke disagreed. "Sharpay isn't ugly."

"This isn't about your wife." Chad replied, shaking his head while Jason and Troy roared with laughter.

"You should try taking her out more often." Troy suggested.

"Then she thinks I am up to something." Chad said. "She thinks I'm seeing some cheap tart."

"Are you?" Jason asked.

"See this?" Chad waved the golf ball before Jason's eyes. "I'll shove this down your throat if you are going to spout anymore bullshit."

"Let's change topic." Zeke suggested.

"Fine with me." Troy said while Jason nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

Chad simply shrugged. "I'm cool with it."

"So how are your preparations coming?" Zeke questioned. "Sharpay is pretty excited about this coming Sunday."

"I can't find my sock puppets." Jason replied.

"Good." Chad answered.

"Why?" Jason asked with raised brows.

"At least you won't stink up the place."

Troy laughed. "Literally or figuratively?"

"Both."

"I'm hurt."

"Wonderful!"

Zeke shook his head, removing his shades. "Troy, how is yours coming? Must be hard to sing without Gabriella."

"I'm still searching for a suitable song." Troy answered.

"Ah!" Chad exclaimed. "In other words, you have prepared nothing."

"Oh like you did?" Troy said.

"Sure. I'm singing with Taylor."

"Hate to say this, but aren't the two of you fighting?" Jason asked.

Chad glared at Jason. "You got a deathwish?"

"Enough. Troy is that your phone?" Zeke remarked.

Hearing the soft beeps coming from the front of his golf bag, he unzipped the pocket and took out his cell.

"Gabriella?"

"No. It's Ryan."

* * *

**Author:** I better update this. Laugh weakly. Sorry for the wait. Tell me what you think of Thornton.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

"RDX." Thornton stated.

"RDX?" Ryan asked, frowning.

"Cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine," the detective clarified and continued, "Widely used by the military due to its stability and brisance. Not to mention that it is far more powerful than TNT. Mostly used in plastic explosives."

"And it was place near the jet engine? It would have detonated not long after takeoff."

"Not necessarily. RDX is rarely used alone in explosives. It also depends on the exact composition of the bomb and the shell that was used to retain the explosive. The amount used was little since it was staged to look like an accident. That's all I know. I'm not an expert when it comes to explosives. I'm better with guns."

Ryan halted and stared at the other man. "Looks like I am more wanted dead than alive... But I lived."

The detective kept quiet, studying Ryan's face. "You won't be so lucky next time."

"Care to explain?"

"Psychology. Someone went through all the hassle to see you dead. He must have spent at least one month plotting the crash but guess what, you came out alive. This type of murderer don't let go of their victims that easily – less violent but smarter and more persistent in nature. Usually, the motive is less emotion based. The elimination of a being is more to protect their personal interest. Mind you, personal interest here covers a wide scope that varies from one man to another."

"Men like him walk out without a sentence from the court. You might have a fair chance of charging them under accessory of murder if you could relate them to the crime they have committed. Normally an assassin would be hired to do the killing. Mercenary would do equally well."

Ryan sighed as he listened to Thornton. It seemed that someone had already planned his deathbed in advance.

"Try to stay alive. He might get violent in the sense that he would no longer stage the murder to look like an accident. To stage a murder like an accident, the assassin has only a limited number of ways to kill you. But if he is desperate enough, he would search for the quickest and most effective way to eliminate you."

"Wait, how sure are you that an assassin is involved in all this? Or a mercenary? This is all hypothetical." Ryan questioned, eyes narrowed.

"RDX is not acetone peroxide. You can't brew that shit in a garage. It is used by highly funded military camps. An ordinary man can't just get it anywhere. If the man that wants you dead can get his hands on it, what makes you think he can't hire an assassin? True, this is all hypothetical. It's based on instinct and past experiences but it's better than nothing."

"Ok. You do realize that just narrow down the list of suspects?"

The detective nodded. "It does. But who told you I am searching for one suspect and it has to be a he? I used the word he to refer to a man or a group of people."

"So there might be more than one person out there who wants me dead?"

"A fair possibility. He could also be a she."

"Surely someone is on the top of your list." Ryan said, observing a nurse wheeling an old frail man down the inclined board.

"Yes. There is someone. Still I can't find any evidence that ties him to the crash." Thornton cleared his throat. He was still perturbed by yesterday's encounter.

"I hear a 'but'." Ryan stated his observation.

"Nothing. There's something that I need to investigate thoroughly."

"Devereux?"

"The most susceptible? Yes."

Ryan nodded in understanding. It explained a number of things. "I hear they overruled the crash as a technical malfunction."

"Yes. Yesterday."

"Bribery?"

"I presume so. Possibly a threat." Thornton replied, lifting his gaze from Ryan to the hospital marbled steps. "Driscoll."

Ryan glanced to the back, registering the presence of his family doctor, Lawrence Driscoll. "I see James is not recovering at all," Ryan commented, switching topic smoothly.

"No progress just a declination of his health condition. Recovery seemed almost impossible." Thornton followed.

"I can h – "

"No, Ryan you have helped me enough. James is my responsibility."

"Did you just called me Ryan?" asked Ryan, perplexed.

Before the detective could answer anything, the doctor stood between them, interrupting the conversation. "Your medication. You left them."

"I better get back to the HQ." Thornton gestured a goodbye and left the hospital grounds.

Ryan's eyes narrowed, ignoring Driscoll's medical advice. Something was wrong. Did Thornton just drop a hint?

"Driscoll."

"Yes?"

"I want you to keep an eye on James Thornton. Report to me anything that concerns him. From visitors to any surgery he might be undertaking."

"I'm a doctor and he's not my patient."

"You just got promoted then. I have an appointment to attend." Ryan said, taking his medication, leaving behind a very confused doctor.

* * *

Thornton entered his car, slamming the door shut. He glanced at his rearview mirror and hissed.

"Fucking stalker."

* * *

"I'm surprised that you called me so soon," Troy voiced his thoughts.

"You should be surprised that I even bother to call at all," Ryan replied coldly.

Troy smiled and nodded in agreement.

"So," Ryan said, placing Troy's name card on the table, "What's your intention?"

"Intention?" Troy parroted, amused. "Aren't you the one who called me out to this fancy restaurant?"

"I just want to know your exact reason for giving me your name card. What do you want? I'm sure it has nothing to do with the company."

Troy kept quiet, gazing at the busy world outside the French restaurant. Folding his arms, he wondered about his true intention. He just wanted to see the blond. It was that simple.

He also wanted to amend his mistake in the past. He had been living in guilt for the past few years after his indifferent statement to Ryan.

"It's about my confession, isn't it?" Ryan said, sipping his glass of water.

"You still remember?" Troy asked.

Ryan studied Troy's blue grey eyes, feeling secure behind his dark shades. "Yes," he answered shortly.

"Look, I'm sorry about my reaction back then. I didn't mean to be so cold towards you," Troy replied, feeling guilty. "I have no idea how to react."

"I should have recorded your reaction."

"I'm really sorry about it. Can we start over?"

"Start over? You think this is some sort of game where a player can just start all over because he is suffering from guilt or a terrible loss? Learn from it, Bolton. It imparts great knowledge."

"We used to be friends."

"Yes, when we only converse freely outside East High. Don't give me reasons. You're bad at it."

"I'm offended by your remark."

"Get use to it."

"Ryan, can't we be friends again?"

"And end your misery? No."

"You're a real sadist."

"That's what my psychiatrist says."

"There's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

Ryan raised his brows.

"Maybe there's something you can do."

* * *

**Author:** I'm sorry if the first few chapters were a drag but things will get faster from here onwards. Not everthing is clearly explained in the conversation between Ryan and Thornton. It's Thornton's hypothesis. Things will get clearer. As for the tryan thing, I'm sorry that nothing really happened until now but the actual base is already set in this chapter. The next chapter will provide room for progress and explain something in chapter 1. Hope it doesn't bore anyone to death. I salute you who have somehow managed to survive reading all those prior chapters. I respect your level of tolerance. Salute! And thank you for still reading it. Bows deeply.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Ryan Evans gazed outside the window of his father's study. The air was crisp and light. Rich scent of coffee beans lingered in the study. He had been avoiding the Evans mansion ever since his return. There was nothing here for him.

Pulling his eyes away from the dead tree outside the mansion, he studied the well kept study.

He hated the study. The revelation that had occurred here was bitter and he had no desire to step back into this room unless necessary.

But today it was different.

His father had called him here.

He rubbed his temple. His vision was not improving and he had been experiencing awful headaches for the past few days. It was almost a constant in his daily life – to wake up with the similar probing sensation behind his eyes.

The door of the study swung opened and an elderly man entered. His aged face lined with temporary cheerfulness. "Glad you can make it my boy! It's great to see you again."

Unaffected by his father's affection, he answered, "Anything for you father."

His father nodded as he rested himself on the armchair. "Take a seat," his father said.

"I'm fine standing," Ryan replied, shifting his attention to the knotted branches outside the window. It was eerily beautiful against the grey sky. He observed his father from the corner of his eyes.

This would not be a long conversation.

He did not want to fully participate in any conversation with his father. It would be far too disappointing.

"Suit you," the older Evans muttered. "You must be wondering the exact purpose you are called here today."

Ryan observed his father, eyes glazed. He nodded his head.

The two men had no intention of spending anymore time together than was originally required. Both wanted to return to their own lives and erased the existence of the other completely.

"I do not know the exact reason why Sharpay has decided to give you her share of the company. She might have gotten tired of the harsh business environment. You do realize that you are holding a lot of power over the company?"

"I am aware of it," Ryan admitted, eyes studying the shelves of books.

"The board of directors has recently queried me regarding this matter. They are not entirely happy about this matter."

"I am not interfering with the company's progress."

"You might. The company will be yours in years to come and you dominating a huge part of the share will invoke dissatisfaction among the other shareholders. There will be no balance to the system. The division and delegation of power will become vague," his father explained.

Ryan shifted his gaze to the table lamp. "If I ever get the company."

His father studied him momentarily. "So you decide to have a larger hold of the company's share?"

"I still own the company. Just collectively with the other holders. Still my opinion matters most since I hold a majority of its share."

"I assume you have other plans?"

Ryan simply smiled. "I'm not making this easy for him. I might have other plans but I will not back down from this company. I have a reputation to live up to, father. I always get what I want or what people assume I want."

"This is all about your ego, isn't it?"

The young man studied his father's face.

"I don't understand you my son."

"Don't."

* * *

Troy Bolton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes glued to his laptop screen. Downing his second glass of whiskey, he pressed 'enter' – submitting the list of directors and shareholders for the past years.

What did Ryan plan to do with all these?

He removed his glasses, rubbing his temple lightly.

To Troy, these documents hold no actual value to the company. Looking at the list, the name Skylar stood out the most.

Skylar was one of the company's shareholders whom Troy personally knew quite well. She hardly participated in the company's general or stockholder's meetings. Long retired from her law practice, she had provided the company with useful advises before moving to Germany with her husband a year ago.

He shifted his gaze from the screen to the grey sky outside his abode.

It was disturbing.

A few months later, Skylar and her husband were found dead in their apartment. The cops had ruled it out as another random robbery since a number of their valuables were missing. The old couples were just unfortunate.

But Troy Bolton thought otherwise.

Before her departure to Germany, Skylar had handed Troy a key. It was a key to a safe. He felt that Skylar was murdered due to content in the safe. She never told Troy the key was to which safe though– her own or one of the local banks?

Maybe he was just being paranoid.

The doorbell rang. It snapped the burnet awake from his train of thoughts. He glanced at his PC that was wired to the house's security cameras. It was just a delivery boy.

He made his way slowly to the door. He needed some time to clear his head.

"A parcel for Mr Bolton. Just sign here and here. Thank you," the boy droned, stifling a yawn.

He took the parcel gingerly and frowned. "There's no return address."

The delivery boy stared at Bolton. "Really?" he said with a bored expression.

Troy shook his head, closed the door and headed back to the living room. That boy needed serious counseling if he wanted to succeed in life.

He ripped the brown paper off and placed the slim box on the table. He tore open the envelope attached to the box, scanning the letter.

'_Mister Bolton,_

_A surprise for you….and perhaps your wife.'_

He raised his brows and studied the letter again. The design of the font told Troy that the letter was written using the near obsolete typewriter.

The brunet opened the box and shook the contents out. Photos and a CD slid out from the battered box.

Troy Bolton's eyes widned with shock as he lifted one of the photos to study.

* * *

Ryan Evans walked down the quiet park, arms folded tightly across his chest. It poured heavily last night and only halted this morning. It felt more like autumn than summer.

At least people would not die of heat stroke.

He used to despise the cold bitter weather but had learned to appreciate it over the years. It might have reminded him of the day of his confession to Bolton, but time could temper with the feeling of grief and disappointment. It just could not temper with love.

Ryan seated himself on the park's bench, admiring the skylines and the trees surrounding him. He observed an old couple moving slowly downwind. This type of weather permitted people to think in greyer hues. It allowed him to reflect and ponder about the future without involving any emotions.

A man in a grey overcoat took the seat beside him, crossing his legs as he admired the skylines.

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

Ryan studied the man briefly and agreed, "Yes. Especially in this weather."

The brunet smiled warmly while he removed his leather gloves. "Is it your hobby to observe the world from this light?"

"Aren't you the same?"

The man laughed, "Guilty as charged."

"You are pretty free. Don't you have anything to do back in your office?" Ryan questioned, realigning his thoughts.

"Nothing much. Only some papers to sign and a board to impress."

Ryan nodded as he digested the facts. He kept his face and voice clear of any emotions. It was not pleasant to be sitting next to the man in the grey overcoat.

"It's nice to talk about something outside work."

"Really? Does death fascinate you?" Ryan shifted his gaze to study the gentleman's bright lavender eyes.

"Can't we have an ordinary topic of discussion?" the man asked.

"Devereux, nothing is ordinary when it comes to you. You have a habit of escalating things."

"A prejudicial remark."

"Under normal conditions, you would have a bloodied nose by now."

"Is that a threat, Evans?"

"No. It's a warning," Ryan corrected the man.

"Ah," was Devereux's reply. "I was hoping for a friendly conversation."

"You have no friends," Ryan scoffed.

"I can sense your insecurity from here," Devereux commented, his lavender eyes dark. "We are alike to one another. We trust no one and expect little out of those around us."

"Don't associate me with you."

"I'm not saying we are exactly alike. We share certain similarities that are the foundation to our core believes and personalities," Devereux explained.

"I don't change my opinion that easily," Ryan said.

"I see. You still think I am fully responsible behind the crash?"

Ryan's eyes narrowed but he kept quiet.

"Well I better get moving," the handsome man smiled. "You should not be the only one who is worried."

Ryan sat there motionless and reflected on their entire conversation. Devereux was a complicated man – a bold yet elusive character. He watched the tall man walked away till he was no longer visible in sight.

Ryan dipped his head.

If he was lucky, he might die first before he was murdered.

* * *

**Author:** A gloomy chapter. Just to clear things up - Bolton has one PCs and two laptops. One of the laptops belongs to the company. Though I only mention one laptop....does a man need that many?....a friend asked me what's acetone peroxide. It's a non-nitrogenuos bomb that terrorist and some amature bomb makers love. It's mostly in the form of liquid - more stable than its solid state. It can bypass the airport bomb detector which can only detect nitrogenuos bombs - which explains why shampoo and any other liquids got banned. Not to mention that the compounds required to make it are cheap and easily attainable. So........I leave you to ponder about everything that is written in here. Umm, i'm changing one of the genre to crime...do anyone know how to add three genre to a story?


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

A man strode slowly, keeping a distance of a meter behind a group of Japanese tourists. He was six feet tall, with fine blond hair and a fair complexion. Loki was his codename – resembling the Norse deity of mischief and trickery – and new identity. It provided the man a new future. A fresh start.

Glancing at his watch, he listened to the museum curator explained the beauty and value of the paintings. He was pleasing to the eyes and charming – his usual boyish grin soothing but deceiving in nature. A friend was supposed to meet him here in five minutes time.

Being a careful man, Loki had already studied the museum a week before the meeting, finding possible escape routes. He was not fond of the location selected. It was filled with security cameras and guards. It was not because he had no faith and trust in his friend, but after those bitter years he learned that unnecessary problems were best avoided at all cost.

Moving to the left, he abandoned the group of tourists and headed down the stairs.

His years in the army had provided him with valuable experiences that his competitor could not rival. He was an expert in stealth, handling of weapons and hand-to-hand combat. But the solider in him had long died after the death of his close friend and idol, Colonel Garrett.

Loki never appreciated the time he spent in the army. He was a smart man who could have lived a brilliant life in academia but poverty stalked his family. His parents died when he was no older than six and was forced to live with his psychotic grandfather – a veteran of war with an inflated ego. He was conscripted into the army after he finished high school and had spent the first three years in the army wallowing in self misery.

But things changed under the humid yellow sky, when he crossed path with Colonel Garrett. The Colonel was young for his rank but that did not invite any unpleasant remark from anyone. No one deserved the rank more than Garrett. Not only was he brilliant in the battlefield, he was equally brilliant in academics. He was well literate and showed great fondness for books.

His life had gotten better after their first encounter. It was the turning point of his life. He and the Colonel became close friends. He idolized that man and would always stand at his side. Slowly he made his way up the military ranks. Life got better, but under the same yellow sky in an alien land, his life ended.

William Hall, the handsome Captain died together with Colonel Garrett.

William died and Loki was born.

He could no longer live in that world. The thought of his superior leaving his team without backup when they were attacking an enemy's base was sickening. Many men had died in that attack. Garrett would have lived if he had not protected him.

Now, he was conman to the eyes of federal agents but a vital courier to the underground world.

He shut his eyes and cleared his thoughts.

From the top of the stairs, he saw his friend, Thornton, the detective whom he had met a few years back, before Garrett's death. He knew Detective David Thornton's brother, Private James Thornton, well enough to be considered a loyal comrade if not a friend.

Simple greetings were exchanged and hands were shook.

"It has been long," Thornton said, a small smile rested on his lips.

Loki flashed the man a smile. "Not long enough apparently."

The detective laughed and shook his head. "Yes, not long enough."

"You were pretty obscure through the phone," Loki remarked, taking the styrofoam cup filled with his favourite brew from Thornton. _He still remember_, Loki mused silently.

"I'm afraid I have to." Thornton waved apologetically and pushed the glass door open. The colour of his eyes now a shade of misty grey. There was appreciation in them.

Thornton was no different from his brother. They were the few who would never abandon a needing friend. The sort that never forgets a person's charitable act and would find a way to repay their kind deeds.

A humble soul despite the vulgar mouth.

"I see," Loki muttered as they made their way out of the museum.

"I'm sorry for calling you out. It's rather unorthodox to meet in there but it's better than the quay and dingy bar. The last thing I need is Harlan sniffing my boxers for cocaine or morphine."

Loki smiled and briefly studied the buildings, cars and passersby. It was habitual. Something drilled into him after all those years of training.

"Are you being followed?" Loki queried.

"No. I went on an unnecessary detour before arriving here."

"_Were_ you being followed then?"

Thornton kept quiet. He had been followed a few times by Harlan's men but he knew and understood well what Loki meant. Hesitation flickered in those gentle eyes. "Yes, once."

Loki observed Thornton, trying to read the detective's facial expression. His hazel eyes caught the other man's eyes and held them in a steady gaze.

"Devereux was following me. The top man of Markov," Thornton answered Loki's unvoiced question.

Loki nodded. "I have heard a fair deal about him from the trade."

"It's really nothing. I have other matters to discuss with you."

"Go on," Loki prompted.

"I need your aid – greatly. I need information, but that can be settled later after I show you the man I need you to protect."

Loki stopped dead in his track. "Protect?"

"I know I am asking a lot from you, but hear me out. He's Ryan Evans. He was involved in the air crash not long ago. I found RDX from the wreckage. I believed it to be Composition C. It does not fit the usual murderer profiles. I suspect this to be the work of someone of higher authority."

"I assume Devereux is on your suspects list?"

"Yes. He came to the headquarters about a day or two ago. The investigation on the crash was aborted suddenly, stating that it was a technical malfunction. How did the RDX past by the lab unnoticed? It seems – "

"A little too farfetched?"

Thornton nodded, slowing his steps. "That does not match with Devereux's MO."

"I can see where this is going to. You think is someone far more powerful than Devereux."

"Absolutely."

"It does not fit their personality and mode of operation either. No man with great influence and power would be bothered by a business man. They have better things to do," Loki replied, knowing that Thornton was suggesting the involvement of a political figure.

Since RDX could be only found in the military, he had a faint suspicion that Thornton was implying that it was the work of some General or high ranking officers. Either that of those who worked in the department of defense…which seemed a little absurd to him.

"Maybe Ryan's presence was a threat? That could be possible," Thornton said.

"Let me summarize this, you want me to protect him due to a debatable inference in your head that concerns his safety?"

"That's about it. I believe there will be a second strike."

"Makes no sense you know," Loki said with a grin as he studied the document Thornton had given him.

"Why?"

"Why did they not eliminate Bolton? He pose as much as a threat as the Evans. He should not be the only one worried."

"I know. I will work on that but will you help me?" Thornton asked.

"I'll think about it. I have something to deliver."

Loki wondered at times about Thornton's loyalty. That man was too loyal. For a detective like him, he should have been handcuffing him, not chatting away like good old friends. He knew Thornton was finding a way to repay his debt to him.

Loki had saved his brother out from the attack. They were on the same team with the Colonel. Though his brother was saved but he was not as fortunate as Loki. The man was already severely injured before Loki pulled him out from the shithole.

Private James remembered the man who saved him. He told no one except his dear brother, David, regarding the man who rescued him. Loki wanted to erase the existence of Captain William Hall. He partly knew that his return to the base would involve a heated argument with the senior officers, perhaps trade a few blows with them, followed by court marshal and the removal of his rank.

Including the fact that the team was left without any help and some vague hints from Colonel Garrett before his death, he was determined never to return to that place again.

He cleared his throat as they approached the café. He recognized the young man from the photograph Thornton had provided him in the brown envelope. "Was he aware of your plan?"

Thornton casted Loki a small smile and shook his head.

Approaching the singly occupied table, the young man rose to his feet, stood to his full height and extended his hand. Loki shook the gentleman's hand and greeted him blandly. It was etiquette.

Again his hazel eyes scanned the surroundings of the café.

He took the empty seat next to the young man and dismissed the waitress. The young man began asking him questions. Questions that he could easily answer. Questions about assassins, mercenaries, explosives and smuggling.

He sensed fear behind the young man's cool exterior.

* * *

The conversation lasted for a few hours. There were moments in between where all parties kept their mouths sealed. Each preoccupied with their own thoughts, forgetting the presence of others seated close to him.

To Loki, he was preoccupied with something else. His thoughts were not on guns, bombs, assassins or anything related to their topic of conversation. He was perturbed about something else.

Something that needed verification.

Casually, he walked into a florist, examined some flowers which he held no interest in while he waited.

He left Ryan Evans and Detective Thornton back in the café, giving the excuse that he was late to deliver an important package. He had no important package other than a stolen portrait.

He waited for the two men to past the florist while he picked five stalks of carnations. But that was not what he was waiting for.

He was waiting for someone else.

Not long after the two men had past by this shop, a man with a baseball cap and a blue jacket tailed them. That man was certainly not Devereux.

Hazel eyes shone brightly in their slits as he paid for the flowers and walked out from the shop. He suspected that Thornton was being followed ever since he left his office. Ever since they left the museum, he felt disturbed. It got worse in the café.

Throwing the carnations down a bin, his brows furrowed. He had seen that man before…

What was he doing here?

* * *

**Author:** Finally Loki aka Captain William Hall is in the story. Thornton - investigation. Loki/Hall - thrill. Driscoll/ doc - insights on Ryan's health and something else. Devereux - the one that makes people confuse due to his actions. Sorry if you see little Ryan and Troy (he was not even mentioned) in this chapter. I plan to update Chapter 8 and 9 together. Chapter 9 focus fully on Troy and Ryan - somethinge easy to the eyes???. But I have to rewrite the entire Chp 9. I know its confusing with all these new characters. Sorry. Did not mean to confuse anyone. This chapter gives you a tiny glimpse of who the actual culprit might be. Shows you the other side of Thornton. Explain a little on what had happened to James. Forshadows what will happen in the later chapters. I might write down the profiles of some characters...if I am not that lazy. Hope you enjoy this chapter.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Troy Bolton was driving for the past two hours and a half. Now he stood outside a house of a stranger, he rang the door bell a few times. He needed answers. He needed them right now.

After what he had seen…

He held his breath.

The door swung open and a beautiful lady in a champagne dress stood at the doorway. She was shocked and horrified, her slender fingers trembling.

"Troy," Gabriella said softly, eyes wide. "How-how did you find me?"

"Someone told me you are here," Troy answered, anger and grief coloured his voice. Blue-grey eyes studied her face before he continued, "How are you going to explain this?"

Gabriella's lips parted but not a word was uttered. She dipped her head, avoiding eye contact. She was lost for words. She wanted to hide the guilt and shame in her eyes from him.

Troy took a step forward and gripped her shoulder, "Answer me…please."

"Troy…I love you. I really do…," Gabriella stuttered, her eyes red.

Hearing her answer, his heart faltered. She was lying. "He's not here is he?" Troy asked, sorrow clumping his throat as he released his grip.

"I love you Troy…please listen…" she mumbled, brushing strands of black hair away from her tear stained face. "I can explain."

"What is there to explain?" he asked as he suppressed his anger. "What is there to say? You have been sleeping with a colleague of yours for the past few years. You cheated on me."

"Troy, I didn't mean too. I love you." Gabriella took his hand gingerly.

"If you love me, why are you doing this? Why? When you know this will hurt me! When this will hurt us!" he yelled, pulling his hands away from her grip. He took a few steps back, turned away from her and choked back his tears.

"Why?" he asked softly a few seconds later. He could no longer look at her. Disgust grew stronger within him as he thought of her. He could feel the love he had for her eroded slowly.

Gabriella sobbed, her chest inflated with pain and guilt. There was no answer to any of his questions.

"Don't lie to me. Don't tell me you love me," Troy said bitterly. "I have given up so much for you...my passion for basketball, my identity…what else must I give you? I changed myself to a man that I don't even recognize when I looked at the mirror."

He turned around, gazing straight into her eyes. "Tell me, do you love him?"

Her eyes widened, staring tearfully at him. "I do…he's – "

Troy shook his head as he cut her short, "Enough." There was no need for her to explain her love and fondness for the other man. There was no need at all. He did not want to hear her reasons. He was sick of them.

He inhaled deeply. Eyes tired and sore.

He gazed at the sky, seeking courage and comfort. Troy felt weak. Betrayed. He might have not given her his entire heart but he had tried. He had tried to remove the feelings he had for Ryan Evans.

It was a futile attempt but at least he tried.

Did she even try for a moment to forget about the other man? The thought of her cheating him when she entered college was repulsive. Troy Bolton had met the other man. He was Joshua Alton – one of the best heart surgeons in the nation.

It explained so much…the sandy brown hair, the fair complexion and those clear blue eyes. Heavenly blue eyes that could easily mesmerized anyone.

"Abigail's not mine is she?" Troy asked with much strength. Gabriella paled at that statement. Silence filled the space between them.

He already knew Abigail was not his daughter but he could never bring himself to believe that. Abigail was his little girl. His beloved little angel that lifted his spirit with her sweet smile and baby talks. It was already so hard to accept the truth of his wife cheating on him, just imagine the confirmation of the fact Abigail was not his.

"No…" she sobbed softly.

"Thank you for confirming my worse fear," he replied, his voice breaking under the building pressure in his chest. He turned away from her and headed to his car.

Gabriella went after him, screaming for him to stop. "Troy! Please listen! Don't do this to me! Please!"

Troy unlocked his Lamborghini and opened the car door. Without a glance back, he entered his car. He could hear her weeps but he ignored them. Releasing the hand break, he moved his car into gear and drove off.

From his rearview mirror he saw Gabriella's knees buckled, kneeling on the driveway. Sorrow and anger clenched his heart. Hot tears stung his eyes.

He wanted a divorce.

He could not bear the sight of her.

Yet he loved his little girl Abigail.

* * *

A black saloon parked a few cars from the silver Lamborghini shifted into gear. The windows were darkened. All that could be seen was a faint flicker of a lit cigarette.

A smile of satisfaction rested on the driver's lips as he noted the anger and grief that lined the husband's face. He had done well.

"It went well," his said into his earpiece.

* * *

Ryan Evans was reading the lists Troy had given him. He knew well that Troy Bolton would not and could not provide him with the documents relating to the board members and shareholders. That would be against the company's law.

Sipping his cup of home brewed coffee, he relaxed himself back on his comfy sofa. In his opinion, a successful man must learn how to balance his work and personal life. He might look like the sort of man that was married to his job but apparently he was not.

He enjoyed spending his free time with the piano and a good book. That was his personal life. Any life away from his job was always considered personal. Once in awhile he would practice his fencing skills. And if he did, he would have to do that at night under the guidance of the moon. Sometimes you might catch him in the country club's shooting range.

He placed the lists down, straightening, pushing his legs out. He yearned for a good long walk. A walk in the park or a hike to unwind himself.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up to answer the knock on his door.

He was not expecting visitors. It might be Sharpay or Zeke or Kelsi.

Somehow a part of him was expecting Kelsi. It was not out of fondness or anything. But after her return two days ago, she kept bumping into him. Wherever he was, she would be there. He hoped that she knew that he had no feelings for her, and that he was only helping Sharpay out in their final year in East High.

He liked her and perhaps loved her like he loved Sharpay. That was it.

He silently cursed Jason for his incompetence. The man had never plucked enough courage to confess his love to Kelsi. Ever since Jason laid eyes on Kelsi in East High, that man was madly in love with her. He tried to change himself to impress her, but she never noticed him. Maybe she did when he opened his big mouth to ask Mrs Darbus about her summer.

When he turned the doorknob he prayed that the person standing on his doormat was not Kelsi.

Guess what?

It was not.

It was worse.

It was Troy Bolton.

* * *

Troy held the mug with both hands, feeling the warmth of the coffee tickling his receptors. He inhaled deeply, drawing in more than the rich scent of his mug of coffee. The scent of Ryan's shampoo lingered lightly in the air.

He needed to escape from the bitter reality that he had just discovered. He could not return back to his home. The air there reeked of Gabriella's perfume and their photos would only hurt him worse.

So for some unknown reason, he was now here, next to Ryan Evans.

It was comforting to feel his presence next to him.

It calmed him.

He observed Ryan's blank expression. Normally the blond would not miss an opportunity to make a sarcastic comment but now, his lips were firmly sealed.

"Can I move in with you?" Troy asked suddenly.

Without turning his head, Ryan answered, "Sure."

Troy's eyes widened at Ryan reply.

"That does not mean I like you any better," Ryan said, eyes still glued to the list.

* * *

**Author:** Welcome to the actual part where the Tryan starts. Sorry if it take me so long to unite them. It would be fun to watch them living together. But the progress is kinda slow. Ryan will be difficult and Troy will be too troubled with personal problems. I guess you guys kinda predicted what Troy had seen in the photos huh? But that is not the last time you are seeing Gabriella. Shakes head. Nope. There's still little Abigail to consider. I know this is a slow chapter. Ryan's '_peculiar_' was answered. He was wondering why Abby looks nothing like her ma or pa.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

Ryan Evans did not query Bolton what had happened. There was no need. The expression carved on his handsome face and those bulging red eyes told him a fair deal of things. There was no need to rush to discover the truth behind his silent grief.

Bolton needed time and space.

Ryan Evans did not mind if Bolton told him nothing at all. He could have easily guessed what had happened. It was not that hard.

It must be Gabriella and his little girl Abigail.

Especially Abigail.

Ryan's long fingers struck the piano keys gently as he played to a tune in his head. It was only four in the morning and the dimly lit world outside his French doors was beautiful. A few more minutes and he had to hide his eyes beneath those shades.

It was tiring to hide in the dark and yearn for the light.

Did Lucifer felt the same after his fall from grace?

Ryan asked little in life. To be loved and accepted. Love him as who he was. Accept him for all his weakness.

"Ryan?"

Shocked, his fingers slammed on the keys. He picked his shades and hissed, "How long have you been standing there?" Anger flared his eyes.

Ryan felt nude. He had played his heart out. All his secrets, hopes and worries were carried by the piano notes. He felt weak. Vulnerable.

Troy flinched but he kept his cool. "I heard music and I decided to check it out."

"Yesterday I might have bled with sympathy. Today, I won't," Ryan said, shades covering his teary eyes. Those tears were the signs of his regrets and he made sure that no one, mainly Bolton, sees them. He stood up and walked to the door where Bolton stood still.

"Then why did you let me stay with you? Sympathy? Is that all?" Troy asked – his voice no louder than a whisper.

Ryan halted in his steps. He studied Bolton's eyes. Ryan Evans was not exactly sure why he had agreed to let Bolton stay with him. He was not sure. There was sympathy, and there was something else.

The two men stood close to one another, feeling the warmth radiating from the other's body. Silence dominated the space between them as the two men observed each other.

The moment was suffocating yet beautiful.

There was certainly more than sympathy…

Ryan saw the flicker of love and care from Troy's eyes. Maybe even lust in those blue-grey eyes. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and his lips dry. He felt his body inclined toward the delicious warmth of Bolton's body.

Ryan's eyes widened when Troy dipped his head. He could feel his lips drawn to Bolton's. His eyelids were heavy as he inhaled Troy's dark musky scent. It was intoxicating.

He had always wanted this…

He closed his eyes. "It's more than sympathy. Keeping you here allow me to gain some knowledge about the company's transactions, operations and personnel."

The spell was broken.

Bolton realized what he was about to do and quickly, he straightened himself. Ryan noticed that his ears were red but he was more worried of the warm sensation on his cheeks and neck.

"Have a good night rest. You need them," Ryan murmured. The usual sarcasm in his voice had vanished.

With that said, he walked out of the room.

Nothing had happened.

* * *

Devereux glanced at his Rolex – it was four forty in the morning. He still had some time to spare. His wavy black hair was a tousle. He raised his hand and slowly he brushed them with his fingers.

He was a complicated man.

To Devereux, his entire life was a gamble. He risked everything for something he was not even sure he could actually gain. But that was him. He loved the thrill and danger associated with it.

One operation after another, he was always successful. He had never failed. He had been trained when young that mistakes were costly. There was no safety net beneath the tightrope to break his fall. He had to complete his walk to the other end with his past experiences and the knowledge he had gained. It was risky but he must complete it.

The elevator door slid open and he was escorted down the hallway to a soundproof room.

The meeting was held at 0530 hours and he was more than a little too early. But the guards at the door had let him in. They knew him well enough not to question his authority.

He entered the spacious room and went to his seat. There were five seats around the long table – two on the left, the other two on the right and the main armchair facing the door with its back to the window. He gazed at the empty armchair.

He was an independent partner and had immediate power after the man who sat on the armchair. Devereux was the youngest among the five men that were about to meet. The chairman trusted him the most and had offered Devereux a form of protection and cooperation from the remaining members.

He walked to the window and gazed at the skylines. Dawn was here and she had coloured the horizon in shades of pale yellow and green.

Devereux frowned. He was worried. He knew the chairman planned on eliminating Evans, Bolton and Thornton. Evans posed the worst threat to their interest followed by Bolton. Bolton was just unlucky enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He would settle Thornton personally. In his own ways.

He was against the method of operation of the other members. Violence and force were their preferred standards to solve a matter. The crash was a total failure. He had harshly ridiculed their actions but frankly, he did not give a damn to any of the errors they had done.

His eyes darkened with anger.

No. He was angry at the presence of those three in his plans. They were interfering with the **plan**. Everything was progressing smoothly. It was fine until the Evans had to make his explosive return, Thornton sniffing around like a bloodhound and Skylar for handing Bolton the key.

How foolish of them!

He turned his attention away from the window. He had never interfered with the organization's need to eliminate them. He made sure his hands were clean when it concerned that matter. He only needed to shut some mouths and cover some tracks. That was all.

He seated himself on his armchair, his brows furrowed.

What should he do?

* * *

Loki had not slept that night. He glanced out of the windows and then his watch. It was five in the morning, Saturday.

He cleaned the barrel of his gun while he studied the documents on the table. Another transaction would be held on the following Wednesday at the quay. He sipped his mug of coffee. The pay was impressive, 2.5 million US dollars for a safe courier from the seller to the buyer.

It would be an easy job for Loki. He could use the money to expand his personal armoury.

He lifted his gaze from the documents to Thornton's file.

Perhaps Thornton hypothesis was right? Well not entirely. There might be a few errors init but other than that, it was pretty accurate. But then again, what would he gain out of it?

Decline the handsome pay from his potential client for nothing?

Maybe this was what he had been searching for…

He wanted revenge and he had spent his life now searching for information of stolen weapons and technology from the military. He had to work with those men he despised. He needed to find the mole.

The traitor.

His hand clenched the necklace around his neck.

He would avenge Garrett's death.

* * *

**Author:** Welcome to Phase Two: Propagation. Phase one: Initiation ended in chp 9 and phase two started there as well...It sounds like the free radical subsitution phases/stages doesn't it? Ryan was being difficult isn't he? But you get to see how weak he is...Devereux part. Confusing fellow. Yep, there're five men in the organization that wants to eliminate Ryan, Troy and David (detective). Though devereux does not really count, but...and Loki kinda provide a vague outline to a certain thing...Ermm...I don't plan to update this chap so soon. Cause from here onwards, some chaps would be too long and they would be divided in subsections...so be prepare to see suddenly a chp 10 b and it is filled with romance or investigation..it all happens on a Saturday, early in the morning. And they are kinda like the main characters. There will be a few new characters - background characters like the badies but I think that's about it so no worries about the names. And yeah, what **plan**? It's rare to see Devy so uptight...


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

_A strikingly handsome man stood tall – six feet five inches – in a well-pressed uniform with his chestnut brown hair blown into a tangle in the wind. He was a man that demanded attention from those around him. He held a regal bearing but he always wore a friendly face. A gentle smile would always rest on his lips._

_His eyes glowed with a fiery determination. They held confidence in his ability and pride in his achievements. They were those of a hawk – sharp and well-focused. His skin fair despite the harsh weather they were experiencing in the base._

_A man that was greatly respected by his men for his ability, wisdom and kindness. He showed little feelings but they knew him well enough to understand his little nods and shallow waves. He was a humble man. _

_He gazed at the pregnant sky; green-grey eyes studied the heavy rain clouds. His eyes narrowed when the lightening flashed, illuminating the place in blinding white light. _

_Colonel Garrett knew something awful was bound to happen._

"_Sky gazing?" _

_Garrett shifted his gaze and registered the presence of Captain Hall next to him. His serious face cracked into a warm smile as he pulled the man into a rough embrace. The captain smiled and hugged back, happy at the colonel's display of affection. _

"_I see you make it back in one piece," Garrett smiled, pulling away from the embrace._

_The captain nodded. "It's the third one within these two months. How do they know when to attack all those camps?"_

"_I guess they did not take my advice then," Garrett muttered. He had foreseen such attacks. _

_Garrett was aware after he received the second report – of missing weapons from the custodian of the armouries – that there was a traitor among them. He had arrested a few men responsible for the smuggling of the weapons from the armouries. _

_He knew that they were not the mastermind behind it. They were incapable to make such trades for they did not have proper network with anyone outside the camp. _

_It turned out that other camps and a base had experienced the same thing. Weapons were missing – nuclear warheads, thermal missiles, rifles, grenades and even a bomb prototype. _

_But the traitor was smart._

_The weapons did not disappear in massive amount over a short time. It was done in careful stages, each stage and a transaction was carried out over a certain period of time. After the apprehension of those who were involved in the trade, weapons stopped missing and the commanding officer of the camp would have believed that the case was solved. _

_Colonel Garrett did not believe it to be that simple._

_Those men who were apprehended would later be removed from their ranks and the military. Few months later, these men were found dead. Each men died differently, but all died within that one year. _

"_Lucky us then," Captain Hall said. "Without reason you decided to change the camp's protocol."_

_Garrett smiled. "Intuition."_

_The captain laughed and shook his head. "Really?"_

"_I have something for you," Garrett said, pulling out a silver chain from his pocket. _

_The captain's eyes widened as he took the necklace. Hazel eyes studied the pendant. "It reminds me of those tiny vials hanging around those terrorists neck…it contains poison in them. Drink it…Die than to disclose your secrets to your enemies. Die than to become a burden to your people."_

"_It's made of titanium," Garrett said as he watched William fingered the silver cylinder. "And it does not contain poison. It's an ornament." _

"_Ornament?"_

"_Ornament of adoration."_

* * *

Troy Bolton had ignored all calls from Gabriella. He did not want to hear her voice or listened to her pathetic excuses. He was tempted to switch off his cell, but he needed to be on the alert for any calls from the office.

He closed his eyes and felt the sofa dipped lightly.

Blue-grey eyes fluttered open, gazing at the pretty blond.

Ryan had ignored him – worked diligently with his laptop. Evans had acted as if nothing had happened early that morning. Troy knew Ryan was denying the near-kiss they had. He wished he could deny it, but he just could not.

It was no different what had happened back in East High. His eyes were captured by the alluring blue and his lips drew too near to those lush ones. He felt his heart pounded hardly against his chest when he towered the boy. But he was the one who pulled away, not Ryan. He initiated and terminated it.

He gazed at the laptop and that action somehow seemed to annoy the blond.

"Keep your eyes somewhere else. You don't see me taking a peek at all your missed calls and messages," Ryan snapped.

Troy winced.

He still had not told Ryan why he was staying here. He should not hide it from him and, he needed to talk to someone.

His gaze fell on the wallpaper of his cell. It was the photo of his baby girl Abigail – her lovely brown hair tied into long plaits with white ribbons. She was wearing her favourite pink sweater that he had bought for her during his trip in France. Her eyes were beautiful – the eyes of Joshua Alton. Sharp and clear. Just like Ryan eyes…

Her little angelic face glowed brilliantly with her smile. Her two front teeth were missing and Troy thought she looked extremely cute without them. She was clinging on tightly to his back, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Yes, she was the prettiest girl on Earth. Abigail was his daughter. His beloved daughter.

How he yearned to return to her side and read her favourite bedtime stories. He wished to carry her in his arms and watched her funny little dances. She would make her famous goldfish face when she was mad. She would run to him when the thunder roared.

Abigail…

"You are creeping me out," Ryan said as he helped himself to a bottle of vodka.

"What?" was all Troy could manage.

"National Geographic tonight is on creepers," Ryan replied.

"I never know you watched National Geographic…"

"Neither do I," Ryan mumbled.

Troy frowned and he placed his cell down. "Why didn't you ask – "

"You are a grown man. You know what you want and what you don't. Your reasons are yours. So are your troubles," Ryan interrupted.

Troy cringed. Ryan Evans was certainly a _very good_ friend.

"I do not mind lending you my ears, but try not to bore me," Ryan added.

Troy smiled – the smile was bitter, yet thankful. Again his gaze fell on the photo of him and his little Abigail.

"Gabriella cheated on me…" he muttered softly. "Abigail isn't mine."

Ryan lifted his attention from the screen to Troy. The man was not surprise. Ryan had a vague feeling that Abigail was not his when he saw the little angel in his uncle's funeral. Her hair, complexion and eyes suggested to him that she was not a child of Troy Bolton. It was a fleeting thought.

"I'm sorry," Ryan murmured, keeping his tone even.

Troy replied with a weak smile, "She was sleeping with this guy ever since we left East High."

"I see. What do you plan to do?" Ryan asked. The blond knew it would be unwise to ask for the details. It would cause only more damage.

"I already called my lawyer to get the divorce papers done," Troy replied.

"You do realize that Gabriella will have Abigail if you divorce her?" Ryan questioned.

Troy nodded glumly. "I can't bring myself to forgive her…and I just can't bear the thought of losing Abby."

"Then, why divorce?" Ryan asked as he studied Troy's face.

"I hate her. In my eyes, she's no longer my wife. She's a whore."

"Ok…do you need a marriage counselor to patch things up?"

"No. Such things cannot be patch up, Ryan. You cannot make me love her again after what she had done. She made me change into some man I don't even recognize. She demanded me to spend more time with her when she has the guts to sleep with another man. She made me quit basketball because she thinks it is a waste of time and it is reducing our quality moments together. She asked me to meet up with the Wild Cats less because she thinks a husband should spend more time with his wife shopping in some high-end mall and sipping tea from some dainty teahouse. She insisted that I quit university early so I can immediately work for your dad in order to realize her little fantasy of having a fucking huge mansion."

"Well, right now you are successful. You do have a big mansion."

"I was not happy. I was depressed. I met with the guys only once a week for about three hours. I am stuck in a gym for hours punching out my dissatisfaction while she attended her yoga classes with Taylor. Happiness began to exist when Abigail enters my life. She is my daughter. She is my life. And now I discover she's not even my child! I love Abigail, even after I know the truth, but I can no longer live a life full of lies. I need a divorce."

"You still can ask for your visiting rights. You are still her father," Ryan said.

Troy sighed.

"Well at least you found out now, imagine the blow ten years later."

"I never suspected anything. The only reason why I knew bout it is because of this weird package filled with photos and a video of Gabriella and Joshua together."

Ryan stared at Troy. "Photos? A stalker?"

Troy shook his head and answered, "I have no idea."

"Are the photos…recent?"

"No. Some of the photos I assume were taken two or three years ago…Gabriella has short hair back then," Troy answered. Why would anyone stalk his wife?

What do they earn out of it?

"I presume your post back then is your current post."

"Yes. Where is this heading too?"

"Nowhere. I'm just curious," Ryan replied. He was curious and worried.

Troy Bolton sighed. He missed his little Abigail…Nobody seemed to care about him. He had called Chad yesterday but he was too busy with Taylor. Zeke preoccupied. Jason could not answer his call.

He gazed at the ceiling. He could hear Abigail's soft laughter.

"I have no one…"

"Bullshit. You still have me."

* * *

The man in the maroon armchair was always known as the Chairman. There was no need to address him by name. The meeting chamber was always debugged beforehand. There were no security cameras in the room. Only two guards with bullet-proof vests and armed with firearms stood outside the soundproof room.

The meeting had reached a final conclusion.

Elimination of Mr Evans would be carried out. The Chairman was aware that young Devereux was not pleased by the method selected. So far, one of the members had dealt with Mr Bolton.

Mr Bolton was a simple man. He had no idea what was going on. They had suspected that the young corporate man held the key to Skylar's safe, but they had inspected the man's life and house. There was nothing there. Maybe he did not possess the key at all. Perhaps someone else had it.

Still the young man would be an interference in the future.

They decided to handle Mr Bolton like what Devereux had suggested. That man was too tied to his family. Break them. He was a man who followed his heart more than his head. An emotional man.

Devereux would settle Mr Thornton, the detective. He believed that Devereux would do his job well. He would do what he pleased to the detective. If Devereux wanted to make the detective as one of his toys, he was fine with it.

Mr Evans however would have to meet a terrible end. A similar fate to Skylar…just less gruesome.

Skylar was a nosy lady.

The Chairman did not take the three as a serious threat but he must be careful. Mr Devereux might not understand the reason for their vigilance. His participation in the organization was very much later after the chaos the organization had faced.

The chaos evoked by one man.

The one man he acknowledged as a real threat.

The Chairman could still recall those black eyes. Eyes that glowed with a fierce determination. Those were the eyes of a predator.

The man was a fine gentleman – well educated and groomed but on the battleground he was a monster. He had seen the man in combat. He was strong and agile. He was fast on his feet, quick with his fists and excellent with firearms.

He was intelligent. Too intelligent. Nothing and no one could fool him. The Chairman was impressed by his performance. He was brilliant. The Chairman respected the man and believed in his potential.

No one thought that man as a threat. He went on his usual routine with a friendly face. The organization did not know that the man was already investigating them personally. He had all their information – their names and the trades.

They had tried various methods to eliminate him but he always walked out of them alive.

The man was invincible…

…till one soldier came, Captain William Hall.

The captain was the man's weakness. His one and only weakness. With his authority he had sent the captain and a group of men into an impossible mission. The Chairman knew his enemy would have no choice but to enter the trap to save the captain. He knew that the man would have no choice but to participate in the ambush attack.

Colonel Garrett – a great man.

Pitiful. No one survived the mission. If they did, they were paralyzed or in comatose or suffering from some grave injuries. These men would never be saved. They would die and one of his members had ensured that all their drips contained a small amount of poison. Just like Private James Thornton.

The Chairman stood up.

The organization could settle those three easily.

Little did the Chairman know that the same man, Colonel Garrett, would cause his fall. The colonel's death did not mean the end of his battle.

It was only the beginning.

* * *

**Author:** Nothing supernatural. Adoration can be friendly right??? I guess not...No. The ornament of adoration means something else. It does not mean what you think it means even if it looks like that. It will come in the later chapters why garrett called it ornament of adoration.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

He had spent the last few days in his car. He was tired but he did not complain. Yesterday he was called after the organization's meeting. One of the members was kind enough to offer him a room in his luxurious hotel. It was another way to say thank you he supposed.

Like they ever thanked him for anything.

He never questioned the organization. He was only their pawn. They had power, authority and money. If he made any mistakes, he would be removed.

He set the tripod up slowly.

He never respected any of the members including the Chairman. Why should he? All he was keen on was his pay. That was it. The current problem was caused by one member's mistake.

He was the dumbest among them all Frank thought. He was clumsy and problematic. Devereux might be a pompous ass but at least that man was smart. This member, he was just pathetic.

And all these were his fault.

It was peculiar why the organization had not removed him.

After the death of the Chairman's adopted son, Philip, he had elected Devereux to take over Philip's place. Devereux did certainly make him proud. The Chairman's son was another useless man in the organization, Frank thought.

Philip was a man who had his pants down most of the time. Not because he needed to pee or anything of the sort. Just that he was so bloody active down there, he might as well have his pants down all the time.

Frank was disgusted of Philip and he was secretly pleased when the Chairman had decided to give his boy a good lesson. Clíona certainly gave him a good time before she ripped his testicles off.

Oh what joy! Frank could almost hear the angels sing!

But of course, without his precious sacs, Philip decided that he was better of dead. He was no longer a man – Frank never thought him as a man at all. The Chairman was not sorry to see him dead. Instead, he was please. Like Frank.

Devereux was smart. Too smart in Frank's opinion. He seemed to be only keen to win and that was about it. That young man would always be scheming. Frank did not like him. There was something about this man that he could not explain. But that man deserved credit, he had made Markov into such a great company. Much better than that useless Philip.

Well at least his job got slightly easier with Devereux intervening. He would no longer to follow that detective. The fellow Thornton hardy seemed to sleep and he hardly stayed in one place. He would always be on the move. From one cheap hotel to a rundown apartment. That guy was unbelievable.

Frank switched the television on and helped himself to some gin before he assembled the equipments. He was an old man. Had seen too much of life and he was only waiting for his time to come. But the organization would not let this man rest.

Frank used to be among the best in his field but he was now replaced by the younger generations. They were faster and bolder. Still, he never complained about his job. He was fine and definitely not haughty and selective like the younger ones.

But he would not be here if it was not the mistake he did years back. He was humiliated about it. He would have killed himself due to the shame and dishonour but he snapped out of it fast enough. Unlike the others. He continued on and here he was.

Frank sighed as he rubbed his rough leathery hands together.

The organization had decided.

He gazed into his eyepiece, studying the young blond named Ryan Evans. Subject was busy with his laptop. As usual.

Frank yawned. That was so interesting.

Hold on.

He twisted the knob, focusing on the figure next to Ryan Evans.

"Well, hello there…"

The Chairman would be please to hear that Troy Bolton was now with Ryan Evans. What did they used to say about killing birds? Ah, kill two birds with one stone.

This would be an easy mission for Abaddon.

* * *

Ryan Evans came out from the shower, scenting like honey and melon. He noted that it was quite difficult for Troy Bolton to sit still as he emerged from the bathroom in his ivory bathrobe.

It was none of his business.

He made his way to the kitchen counter and helped himself to a can of beer. He had made Bolton close all the curtains when he was about to take a bath. Bolton did what he was told grudgingly. He loved the sunshine but thankfully the curtains were thin, light and diaphanous.

Bolton turned round and saw Ryan sipping his beer leaning nonchalantly against the counter, wet and smelling dangerously sweet. Ryan turned and for the first time, Bolton saw the ice blue eyes behind the platinum lashes.

It was like an invitation.

Ryan on the other hand, felt nothing. The blond fixed his cool gaze on Bolton while he wondered about what to wear to the dinner. He kept his face clear and his eyes were pretty glassy after the crash, so they were bound not to sell a thing he was feeling or thinking.

"You are not going to Sharpay's dinner looking like that," Ryan stated as he registered the light stubble on Bolton's tanned cheeks.

Bolton shifted his attention away from Ryan. It was difficult. Beads of water dripped down his platinum blond hair and fine rivulets ran down the fair collarbone. "I'm not going," Bolton said, turning away.

"That's funny. Shar told me you are. And…" Ryan crushed the empty beer can before he continued, "she always get what she wants."

"I'm busy. I have to review a few reports," Bolton replied smoothly.

Ryan studied Bolton for a few minutes. He could tell easily that the brunet was lying. "I never know a static company has so many reports to be written and reviewed and approved, especially when they are from the marketing department."

Success.

Bolton stopped pretending to be busy with his laptop. He turned and casted Ryan a troubled stare. "I can't go. Gabriella might be there."

"Since when are you a coward?" Ryan asked, brushing his hair lightly with his fingers.

"I am not!"

"Yes you are."

"I'm no going to argue with you."

"Smart choice. Because you know well you are going to lose. So what if Gabriella is there? You think she dares ruin another lady's happiness with her depressing news and frantic behaviour? She and Sharpay ain't exactly close to start with. Just nodding, waving and perhaps shopping acquaintances," Evans answered.

Ryan observed Bolton's face.

"You promised my sister. You better keep your words," Ryan warned, moving away from the counter.

"I did not even have a song to sing for her guest," Bolton argued, eyes widened as he noted the blond heading toward him.

"Looks like we'll be doing a duet," Ryan said with a smirk, grabbing hold of Bolton's shirt.

"What are you doing?" Troy gulped, gazing straight into those mesmerizing eyes. The scent of Ryan's shampoo stronger as the blond pulled him closer.

"Oh nothing," Ryan smiled and with amazing strength he dragged Bolton up from the seat.

"What are you doing?" Bolton snapped, gripping Ryan's wrist.

"Dragging you to the bathroom, Bolton. You're taking a bath you foul smelling ape," Ryan answered, the same annoying smirk on his lips.

"No," Troy replied haughtily.

"Really?" Ryan smirked and a soft click was heard.

Bolton froze as he felt the cool slick metal pressing against his abdomen. "You wouldn't dare…"

"Wanna bet?" Ryan hissed softly into Bolton's ears.

"I'm going to have a quick shower," Bolton mumbled, feeling Ryan withdrawing his revolver away. Did he bring that thing into the shower, Troy Bolton thought.

"Move it."

"I am moving!"

"Have a nice warm bath darling."

Bolton halted, turned round and stared. Did Ryan just call him darling? But Ryan Evans did not face him; instead the blond was just helping himself to his second can of beer.

Troy Bolton averted his gaze and continued his way to the bathroom. He prayed that Ryan Evans would be so drunk that he was unable to attend his beloved sister's party.

"Don't forget to shave!"

Troy growled, slamming the bathroom door.

Ryan sipped his bear as he wondered what he should wear to his sister little dinner.

* * *

Thornton screwed his face as he listened to Loki. He was not pleased to hear what Loki had in mind. Thornton was in fact disgusted.

"No. Absolutely out of the question," Thornton growled, flicking the cigarette ashes.

"Look, Evans said that Bolton might be in danger too. Haven't I told you that there's likeliness they target Bolton as well?" Loki stated while winding down the window.

"So? And did I just hear a 'they'?" Thornton asked. "You agree to my theory than?"

"Nothing's a theory till they are proven correct. I just agree to your hypothesis. That's all."

"What made you agree to my hypothesis then?"

"You were being followed when we met up two or three days ago," Loki answered. He helped himself to Thornton's sandwich.

"What? Devereux?"

"No. Someone that you have never met in your life. Frank."

"You know him?"

"No. He was in the service way before me. He screwed up pretty bad from what Garrett told me. He and his men killed two innocent men. Garrett went to check on him years back. I followed but he insisted I remained in the car."

"Is he still following me?"

"No. I think he is asked to switch target."

"You mean he is after Ryan?"

"Stalking."

"So who's tailing me?"

"No one," Loki replied while he helped himself to the detective's coffee.

Thornton kept quiet. His eyes narrowed. "What is going on…"

"Go ask Devereux," Loki suggested as he wiped his mouth with a serviette.

"I told you before. No," Thornton replied.

"That man can provide you vital information. All he asked is some details. Give it to him."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Loki stared at Thornton. "David, did it ever come across your mind why did he even offer you his help?"

"He wanted info!"

"Info that he can easily get? Devereux is the type of guy who schemes in the shadow. He's the sort of guy who's neither good nor bad. He has something in mind. Don't you find it odd? His offer I mean."

Thornton kept quiet. Loki did have a point. A man like Devereux was always full of surprises. He was neither good nor bad….but mostly bad. Rotten would be the best adjective to term that man. He cared for no one but himself.

Devereux was an enigmatic person.

What was his purpose of offering help to Thornton? Why did he even go down the police headquarters personally when he could have asked someone to do it for him? What was the purpose of him meeting Ryan? What did he mean by: _You still think I am fully responsible behind the crash?_

"Will you do as I say?" Loki asked with a smile.

"I'll think about it," Thornton muttered darkly while Loki climbed out from the car.

"Well I'll think about the protection thing. I have something to settle." Loki flashed a smile and walked off.

Thornton exhaled a sigh and reached for his styrofoam cup. He felt tired. His investigation had led to a dead end. Maybe what Loki said was true.

He needed Devereux help.

He lifted the cup to his lips and to his surprise it was empty.

* * *

"Done?" Ryan asked when he came out from his room. He was wearing his new Armani suit, the latest in the fashion. A pale grey suit, made to fit and show his slender figure that matched well with his silk shirt.

Bolton cast Ryan a glare and answered politely, "Yes."

Ryan studied the brunet disapprovingly. Troy Bolton was wearing his good jeans and a fine navy coat. Inside that coat, the man wore a white shirt, the first three buttons unbuttoned.

Ryan did not like the jeans but decided best not to comment. As long as the brunet looked presentable he was fine with anything.

"Good. Let's get going. We're supposed to help Shar with the guest," Ryan said, heading toward the door.

"We?" Troy asked. He was a few steps behind Ryan.

"Yes. You heard me right. We."

"She asked you, not me."

"You are living here for free, Bolton. I'm asking only a little from you."

Troy Bolton grumbled and he noted the blond picking up his car key. Without turning, the blond threw the key to him.

"What's this for?" Troy asked.

"You're now my chauffeur. Get use to it," Ryan smirked.

* * *

He was a quiet man. He sipped his red wine, enjoying the smooth texture of the fine liquor. In his passport and papers, he was Isidor Lavrenti, age thirty two. He was a handsome gentleman with a body of a dancer – slim and fit. He has short black hair and fluent in English.

Isidor's black eyes were fierce. They were the eyes of a hunter – sharp and cunning. Those eyes seemed to have seen too much for a man of his age. They held wisdom and yet there was emptiness in them.

The air hostess came up to him and asked him if there was anything he needed.

He shook his head gently.

With a smile the lady left.

He enjoyed the silence and the service of a first class flight. He was a man who enjoyed being alone. Isidor Lavrenti had spent the rest of his childhood wandering in streets, stealing and fighting. The man had no family. He fought for himself. Self preservation was the highest law.

Those cold black eyes studied the red sky outside his window. The flight was delayed for two hours and forty five minutes. Time was precious to Isidor but he did not complain. There was no need to lose his temper over such petty things.

Time was always on Isidor Lavrenti's side.

* * *

**Author:** Frank, Abaddon and Isidor Lavrenti. Abaddon is a man who will live up to the name/callsign. Isidor Lavrenti. Got a nice ring to it. Will be seeing him from here onwards...Who is he actually?...Not hard to guess I think.... Garrett did a research on Frank. Garrett was always on the right track. He did tons of research and investigation.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

After an evening observing merry faces of friends, family, and unknown guests, Ryan Evans had removed himself from the crowded hall to the empty room facing a tinted glass door that opened to a beautiful garden. The young man was uncomfortable at the presence of many, listening to speculations and scandals that he held no interest in. But the actual discomfort came from his father who sat next to him during the evening.

He tried to be warm and pleasing to the other guests but he found it difficult to keep a clear face and a constant smile resting on his lips. The blond knew that it would not take long for him to fall back to his natural tendency to throw flippant remarks or snarky comments to anyone who chose to converse with him.

Eyes studying the silvery-blue garden from his seat, he inhaled the cold air of the room that scented weakly of mint and lemon. This was one of the few private VIP rooms in the Sharpay's restaurant. He needed privacy and pretty much guess that his sister would not mind him spending a majority of his time here. After all, he chose the closing act, something that he would not even opt for years back.

Tonight, cloaked in the shadows, he contemplated of his bleak future alone in the dark room. Questioning his chance of survival, he noted it was his parents turn to do a duet on stage. He could hear his mother jovial voice ringing in the air. Turning his head, he squinted as he studied the distant figures who he presumed were his parents.

Shifting his attention back to the garden, he became aware of the two figures outside. Without even needing to focus his entire attention on the pair, he knew who they were – Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez.

Not understanding why, he stood up and positioned himself next to the French door as he listened intently to the conversation between them. He knew it was rude to eavesdrop on anyone, but he blamed it all on his curiosity.

Leaning himself on the wall, he cleared his troubled thoughts and filled his mind with the soft conversation outside.

"Troy…" the lady in a white dresses muttered, fingers lacing around Troy's wrist. "Can't you just forget this?"

"How? How are you expecting me to forget about this?" Troy lashed out, rage clear in his lowered voice.

"I know I can't ask you to forgive me, but at least think of Abigail. She needs us," Gabriella stated, fingers combing away strands of black hair.

From his position, Ryan observed the pained expression on Bolton's face. He felt pity for the man as he watched the man winced at some passing thought in his head. Anger resided within his chest as he watched Gabriella placed a kiss on Troy's cheek.

The anger was not mainly due to his love for the brunet. The blond knew mental manipulation and sabotage that was the preferred tactic used by the lady. It was a psychological attack, hitting all the weak spots, expecting emotions to burst from the cracked dam.

"She is too young to be involved in our dispute. Let's just settle this and come home, Troy," Gabriella said.

"Hypocrite," Troy said spitefully. "The very fact that you have brought her up in this conversation has already shown your interest in using her to resolve the mess you have created. Not only do you fail as a wife, you also fail as a mother."

"No! How could you say such a thing?"

"How can you do such a thing?" Troy spat. "Just be honest Gabriella, I'm tried hearing your lies and half-truths."

Ryan watched Gabriella shook her head in anger; her black tresses bounced light in the air and her pretty face distorted in anger and grief.

"I don't want a divorce."

"I do… I just can't stand seeing that face of yours anymore."

Tired eyes fluttered close momentarily as he pushed himself away from the wall. Like a trained hound, he could sniff the potential problems that awaited the brunet. Walking toward the table, he rubbed his wet eyes.

He was not being emotional. How could he? He was a man drained from all emotion, incapable to love and empathize, yet a few seconds ago, he had sampled raw pity that flared out from his heart.

"What?"

Ryan halted in midstride, raised his head, his curiosity piqued again. A frown settled between his brows as he recognized his father's voice. There was a mixture of fear and anger in that old man's voice.

A cloud of confusion misted his mind as he slowly moved toward the window.

"I don't understand. It…no!" his father said, lowering his voice. "There are some technical problems but I assure you, things will be progressing smoothly after the fix."

Chatting business at such an hour? Now, such thing was not unusual if the man on the phone was Ryan or some workaholic man with no life, but his father? That was interesting. His father was a man that feared and complied with nobody. All business calls after six would not be entertained and he made the fact pretty clear among his acquaintances and workers. Even his clients knew well of his habit of leaving the office early to spend some quality moments with his family – which in Ryan's opinion was nothing but pure bullshit.

Glancing over his shoulders, he stared at the platinum orbit that hung high in the sky, adorned by its sparkling admirers. Shifting his focus away from the moon, he gazed at his empty wine glass on the fine mahogany table while his ears registered and consumed every single word his father uttered. Another glass of wine or scotch would wet his lips in desirable flavour and warmth, which at the moment, seemed no more but like a distant dream.

"It's a difficult situation here. I…I know very well the operation and will not be of burden to anyone."

Burden? Ryan's blue eyes brightened at that word as he edged closer to the window, discarding the thought of liquor. He suppressed his need to sigh in agitation. The need to expel the deoxygenated air together with the worries and wants in his head was irresistible but he managed to keep his lips firmly riveted to one another while he placed his hand beside the blue china.

"The company is now at a standstill. It will not progress till all the matters are dealt and when I received your permission to proceed. Frankly, this is a process which I do want to undergo but if you insist."

Ryan smiled in mockery. Progress?

There were reasons behind the standstill. The inactivity of the company had raised many questions among their share holders and aroused the interest of the public. Months back before his return, he would have questioned his father equally. He would demand a position in that corporate body, rivaling Bolton in excellence and efficiency.

Now, Ryan Evans held no such interest.

It was actually quite erratic of him; well actually it was more than 'quite'. The young man had spent his time, energy and effort for the company, to gain his rightful place in the Evans mansion. He had wasted his life, forcing himself to change into a man who lived his life in the shadows, scheming and plotting.

Recalling his brief meeting with his father a few days back, there was actually another reason due to his appearance in the study. He would not mind doing a David Copperfield. Respect and manners was not the sole reason why he agreed to see his father. Etiquette was something he rarely practiced ever since he shaded his old skin.

He turned up to voice his sudden disinterest in the company. Yes, he would still hold on to his share but honestly, he wanted to rid it immediately. It gave him a sense of authority and power upon the company, and especially his father.

This had nothing to do with the investigation carried by Thornton. It might have contributed something but actually it was his instinct that told him propelled him down the path. It had tugged at the corner of his brain, begged to be notice and finally he succumbed to it.

It had brought him to an interesting hypothesis.

Ryan moved away from the window, approaching the table to pick his wine glass. Fingers wrapped lightly around the frail stalk that supported its heavy, crystal top.

A hypothesis supported by Devereux's words: _You still think I am fully responsible behind the crash?_

Yes, Devereux was not alone in it. In Ryan's opinion, Devereux's involvement in his murder was the least. That man might have interfered with the police investigation, shushing up the media and disappeared some evidences.

Making sure that he looked presentable, Ryan Evans pulled out his shades as he walked toward the door in a steady gait, his shoes rapping against the marble floor.

His audiences were waiting for him. They were waiting for him, hoping to see a great performance from him. He could hear his name being called, followed by Bolton's. Placing the shades on the bridge of his nose, he smiled – a supercilious smile – as his hand turned the doorknob. They were waiting for him…

…so was his murderer….a man he once called father.

The door swung opened, the bright light assaulted his eyes.

__

_He took another step forward, absorbing the details of his surroundings before he moved away from the door. Black shades hid wary eyes as Garrett moved swiftly away from the alley, his olive green overcoat flapping in the wind. _

_Garret inhaled the foul air as he cleared his head. Everything was in position, his men ready and waiting for his signal. There was slight anger in him for dragging William Hall into it, but he had no choice – he trusted no one. _

_There was no need for the dashing man to turn round; he knew well that he was followed by a man that was armed with a semiautomatic Colt. Making a turn, he disappeared in a flap of his overcoat as the man darted forward quickly._

_Garrett watched with faint amusement at the man's startled expression from the side of a gargoyle of an old, abandoned bank. He leaped off from his hiding spot, landing soundlessly behind his assassin. _

"_Hello," Garrett greeted, surprising the man. The assassin's eyes widened but before he could react a gloved fist smashed the side of his face followed by a sharp blow to his abdomen. The assassin was hurled to the side of the empty street. _

"_Fuck!" the bald man spat, blood dripping from nose as he pushed himself up._

_Garrett simply smiled. "I was expecting more," the colonel voiced his disappointment, raised the semiautomatic Colt he snaked during the combat, aiming it directly between the man's eyes._

"_See you later in hell." The colonel remarked coldly._

_**Bang.**_

**Author:** Bet you see that coming...Ryan' dad is the man who planned Ryan's murder, but that's all I am telling. Ryan,Troy, Thornton and Loki are not alone - Garrett's men. It's not that easy...I'm going off now. Fever.

* * *


End file.
